


Sakura

by eliddell



Category: Tokyo Babylon
Genre: Anticlimactic deaths, Drama, Historical, M/M, Romance, Tragedy, Victorian, Weird Sakurazukamori stuff, or something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairly early in the Tokyo Babylon manga, Seishirou jokes about having met Subaru in a past life.  Well . . . what if they did?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sakura

This is another repost of an old story, because . . . well, why not?

Ten years, and I'm still waiting for them to finish up X. Sigh.

And yes, I have had complaints about the cause of the "major character death" in this. Although really, the anticlimax was the point. There's no escape for any of the characters, as we know.

Original author's note from 2004 follows:

\--------------------------------------------------------

 **Author's notes:** This is not exactly the story it was originally intended to be—it was supposed to be an AU lemon, but it got darker and weirder and more tangled and more canonical and less graphic as I worked on it, until there was no graphic sex left at all and it was trying to fit itself into the main-line TB/X universe.

Anyway . . . Fairly early in the Tokyo Babylon manga, Seishirou jokes about having met Subaru in a past life. Well . . . what if they did? 

(General yaoi and lime warning.) 

Seishirou, Subaru, and Hokuto all belong to the ladies of CLAMP, not me. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

_Last year's leaves, though half-crumbled into soil, crunch beneath her feet as she walks cautiously down the narrow pathway. At one point her cane slips, and she has to catch herself against the rough bark of a tree trunk, aging lungs straining for breath. For a moment, all she can do is thank Providence that she did not fall. If she were to break her hip for the second time here, on this hidden pathway, she would likely die before help could come._

_Eventually, her breathing slows and her vision clears, and she notices something pale lying on the ground in front of her feet. Slowly, she bends down to pick it up, and brings it up closer to her face so that she can see._

_A single petal. Yes._

_She squeezes it in her hand and begins to shuffle forward, knowing that there will be more—many more._

\--------------------------------------------------------

"Subaru! I say, Subaru! Get down from there!" 

The young man smiles without looking up from his book. Gently, he turns a page. "I told you, Hokuto, I'm not going." 

"Oh, for— Look, I know that occult stuff is fashionable right now, but if you never leave the house, how are you ever going to find a wife?" 

"If you want me to get down, you're going to have to come up after me." He likes it up here in the oak tree, with his back comfortably to the trunk and the warm sun in his face and a book in his hands. Indeed, it is a rare treat, given how seldom the sun shows his face during this northern island's wet spring. 

"Su _ba_ ru! This dress is _brand new_ , and I don't want to rip it!" 

When they were eight, or even twelve, she would have followed him up and dragged him down, whatever it took, and endured the scolding of their governess with her head high, but she's supposed to be a _lady_ now, and he a gentleman, and unlike him, she takes such matters seriously. 

" _Please_ , Subaru. Just for an hour, that's all I ask. After that, you can make your excuses and come back home, but it would be rude not to show up at all, especially when our aunt is the hostess." 

He sighs and closes the book, reflecting that the battle was lost from the moment it had begun. He has never been able to refuse his twin anything, not since they were five years old and playing dress-up with the old clothes hidden away in trunks in the attic, and she dared him to put on an old dress of their grandmother's, then remarked on how pretty he looked in it. Her words made him blush, but he didn't take the dress off. 

Indeed, his life would be far easier were it possible to declare _her_ the heir to their grandfather's estates . . . but there is no use in thinking such things. He is the boy and she the girl, and that accident of nature means that he must be the heir, no matter who is better suited to the task. 

"I'll be there presently," he calls back down. He knots the book inside the body of his sweater and ties it around his neck by the sleeves, then slides over the edge of the branch on which he was reclining, dangling by his hands with his feet even with his sister's shoulders for a moment or two before dropping to land beside her. 

"And your hair is full of leaves and twigs!" she says irritably, picking at it. "Go get yourself cleaned up, and quickly, or we shall be late! Mother would throw a fit if she were here to see this." 

She doesn't see the shadow pass across his face, or perhaps willfully ignores it. If their mother were here to see this . . . then perhaps everything would be different. Or perhaps _he_ would not be so different, such an outcast, quiet and half-foreign though he is. Hokuto does not— _cannot_ —understand how he feels, for she is a woman, and her half-Oriental appearance makes her exotic, and thus more beautiful, in the eyes of their supposed peers, whereas his parentage only makes women from the best families turn their daughters away from him. To them, he is Not Suitable Marriage Material no matter his inheritance, and those young women who do seek him out tend to be from impoverished families, and desperate for his estate. 

Still, he forces himself to smile at his sister. "I'll be by the entry in no more than half an hour—wait for me there." 

\--------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, he is sighing, half-hidden behind a decorative lamp in a room full of strangers. His sister is in her element, at the center of the room, surrounded by marriageable young men seeking to win her favour, while he stands here and pretends not to watch the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away the minutes of his bondage . . . 

"It's a shame that she is the one attracting all the attention, when you are just as beautiful." 

Subaru's face flushes, but before he can say anything, the stranger adds, in his lightly accented voice, "You must be Sumeragi Subaru-san. You look remarkably like your grandmother, except for those extraordinary eyes." 

Subaru stares at the other for a moment, expecting mockery, but sees only a kind smile that warms a pair of golden eyes more than half-hidden behind a tumble of black hair and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. Even though he is dressed just like every other man in the room, in a fine, well-tailored dark suit and starched white shirt, and at perhaps ten years older than Subaru he is far from the eldest present at the gathering, the stranger seems just slightly out of place. Belatedly, the young man puts that together with the other's odd accent and mode of address, and the fact that his own intensely green eyes are the only thing about him that _do_ resemble the faded portraits he has seen of his mother's mother as a young woman, and realizes what, if not who, this man must be. 

"You must mean my Sumeragi grandmother. I've . . . never met anyone who knew her before." 

"I suppose that's hardly surprising. To my knowledge, she's never left Japan, so you and she have likely never even been on the same continent, have you? But your pardon. I find this language of yours confusing, and it's damaging my manners. My name is Sakurazuka Seishirou." 

His smile widens a little as he bows, and Subaru finds himself smiling back. 

"Seishirou-san . . ." He uses the half-familiar honourific tentatively, and is rewarded with a nod. "Since you say English is confusing for you, perhaps you aren't aware that it isn't considered proper to apply the word 'beautiful' to a man." And he is unable to keep colour from staining his face once more. 

Seishirou's eyebrows rise until they are hidden by the rims of his glasses. "Whyever not?" 

"Because it's . . . um . . . that's just the way it is," Subaru finishes weakly. 

The older man chuckles. "And yet it seems to me that it's the perfect word to apply to you. Would you care for a drink, Subaru-san?" Without waiting for an answer, he takes two glasses from the tray of a passing servant and offers one to Subaru, who accepts it, slightly bemused. 

"To our new friendship," the Japanese man offers, and Subaru finds himself flushing again, for reasons he can't adequately explain, as the two of them clash their glasses and sip. 

They chat for a while about the weather and other similar, neutral topics, until the unexpected sound of Hokuto's voice nearly makes Subaru inhale wine. "Brother? So you haven't disappeared on me after all. Perhaps you could introduce me to this gentleman, who has apparently performed the minor miracle of keeping you at a social function for ten minutes longer than strictly required?" 

"Um . . . Hokuto, this is Sakurazuka Seishirou—he's a friend of our grandmother's, from Japan. Seishirou-san, this is my sister, Hokuto Sumeragi." 

"Not, I dare say, precisely a _friend_ of your grandmother's, although I am acquainted with the lady," Seishirou murmurs as he bows again. "Our families are . . . longtime business rivals, you might say. However, I am honoured to make the acquaintance of her grandchildren." 

He smiles at Subaru, and the latter blushes again, wondering irritably, a moment later, why he should be so embarrassed. Hokuto is apparently thinking along those lines as well, for she says, "Seishirou-san, what were you saying to my brother just before I arrived? From the expression on his face, it must have been quite an indecent proposal." 

The older man chuckles. "And if I were to offer to make an honest man of him and marry him, would you, as next-of-kin, give your permission?" 

"Seishirou-san!" Subaru is well and truly scarlet now, and he avoids his sister's eyes as she plants her hands on her hips and studies the two of them in a businesslike fashion. 

"Well, he hasn't had any other offers yet . . . and you do look good together . . . if you want my blessing, you have it, Seishirou-san." 

"Excellent!" says Seishirou. Subaru squeezes his eyes shut and attempts not to faint from embarrassment. "But it wouldn't do to have the wedding before the courtship, would it? Subaru-san and I hardly know each other." 

Subaru opens his eyes again in time to see his sister wave this problem aside with a broad sweep of her hand. "Easily remedied. Will you join us for dinner tomorrow at our estate, Seishirou-san? Six o'clock, if that's acceptable." 

"I would be honoured. Regrettably, however, I must leave you now—I have business to attend to before the shipping offices close for the day. Until tomorrow, Subaru-san, Hokuto-chan." 

"That wasn't very funny," Subaru snaps to his sister the moment the Japanese man is out of earshot. 

"Really? I thought it was, and besides, it isn't as though any of us was taking it seriously. You're too sensitive, little brother." 

_Maybe I am,_ the young man thinks. After all, it was just a silly joke. 

Wasn't it? 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Subaru stares down at the sadly damaged, but little diminished, remains of his dessert in order to avoid looking across the table at their guest. Seishirou's smile is still just as infectious as it was yesterday afternoon, but the memory of his joke with Hokuto still makes it impossible for the younger man to meet the eyes behind the spectacles without blushing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seishirou reach for his wineglass and hears the man clear his throat, and with a sudden sense of dread, grabs frantically for his own glass, nearly untouched so far this evening. 

"To Victoria," he says hoarsely into the sudden silence, "long may she reign." 

"To the Queen," Hokuto agrees, touching her glass to his. 

And, "Your Queen," says Seishirou, and there is a light clink. 

Subaru gulps rather more wine than he intended, and wonders if perhaps it isn't a good idea to continue in that vein in the hopes of taking the edge off his sourceless embarrassment. With that in mind, he signals a hovering servant to come and pour for him, and drains perhaps three more glasses before Hokuto excuses herself from the table, pleading a need to see to certain domestic matters. By that time, he is feeling pleasantly relaxed, and agrees readily and without blushing to Seishirou's suggestion of a tour of the grounds. 

The truth is that there is little enough to tour. The garden has not been kept up since his grandparents' day, and the vast, uniform expanses of lawn offer little to differentiate between one and the other, especially by lamplight, for dusk has long since fallen. Subaru does take a moment to show Seishirou his favourite tree, though, and is pleased when the other man smiles and strokes the thick, rough bark of the oak. 

"It's a fine tree," Seishirou says, "but . . ." 

Subaru, leaning against the trunk, waits patiently for the older man to continue. 

"The truth is," the older man admits with a slight smile, "I miss the cherry trees. At this time of year in Japan, they seem to be everywhere, dripping with pale pink blossom. It's hardly surprising I miss them, I suppose, when you consider that, according to legend, one of the founders of the Sakurazuka family was the spirit of a cherry tree." 

"Oh?" 

"It's actually quite a tragic story." Seishirou pulls a cigarette case and a lighter out of his jacket pocket, and a moment later, tobacco smoke is drifting away from them in slow curls. "Several centuries ago, during the period of the Warring States in Japan, a young samurai—a knight, if you like, a noble warrior—was gravely injured when he was caught on the losing side of a battle in which his lord was killed. He managed to stagger a little way away from the battlefield, but the time soon came when he could go no further, and he collapsed at the roots of a great cherry tree. When he woke up, his wounds had been bandaged, and he was lying among fallen blossoms with his head in the lap of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen." 

The Japanese man takes one last pull on his cigarette, then drops it on the ground and crushes it with the heel of his shoe. "She nursed him back to health. Naturally, he fell in love with her and proposed marriage, but she refused him. At first he thought it was only because he was now a _ronin_ , a lordless warrior with few prospects, and attempted to reassure her on that point before proposing again, but she refused him again without explanation. It wasn't until he was about to depart from that place that he asked her a third time, and only then did she finally have the nerve to tell him that she was the spirit of the cherry tree. The young samurai said that it didn't matter—he wanted her regardless—and they were wed in a quiet ceremony in a nearby village." 

"That doesn't sound like an especially tragic story," Subaru says. 

"The tragedy really begins with their son, the first Sakurazuka. Since his mother was a tree spirit, I suppose it makes sense that a young cherry sapling poked its head above the ground outside her window on the very day he was born, but there was something else . . . odd . . . about the boy. He was born with a spirit that was . . . stunted, in some way. He killed his first man when he was ten years old, and by the time he was fifteen, he had developed a considerable, if clandestine, reputation as an assassin, with the nickname of _Sakurazukamori_. He married an ambitious young woman from one of the ninja clans and had three children with her, but he never loved her or them. For years, his deadly prowess was unmatched, until one day, he was given a commission to kill a young nobleman from one of the northern provinces. As was his custom, he crept into the youth's bedroom in the middle of the night, but once there, he found he could not complete the act and kill the young man, although he could not have said why. A few moments later, the household guards entered the room and tore the Sakurazukamori to pieces. And at the same instant, the young cherry tree that had been growing outside the man's home since the moment of his birth was struck by lightning." 

Subaru wrinkles his nose. "I still don't know if _tragic_ is quite the word for such a morbid little legend, Seishirou-san." 

"No? The first Sakurazukamori didn't _ask_ to be born the way he was. His life—and death—couldn't be any more tragic, to my mind. Dying of a love he didn't even have a word for, much less comprehend . . ." The older man shakes his head. "It's said that, ever since, there has been another one like him in every generation of my family—a conscienceless, remorseless killer whose soul is bound to a cherry tree, and who cannot be felled until he falls in love. Personally, I don't believe it, but it does mean that our family has a terrible reputation in some quarters, and a bizarre one in others." 

"Perhaps you'll make it home in time to see the cherry trees in bloom next year, Seishirou-san," Subaru says, scrabbling for a way to change the subject. 

"Ah, I doubt that very much. Because you see, Subaru-san, even in the absence of cherry blossoms, I had much rather stay here with you." 

A breath of wind curls playfully around them as Subaru stares at the other man. He knows that he is blushing again, but further down and deeper inside him there is also a warmth that has nothing to do with embarrassment, a feeling that he cannot name but instinctively craves. 

"I . . . think I'd like that," he admits shyly. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

"Checkmate." 

Subaru reaches out and tips his king over. "So it is. Are you certain you've never played this before, Seishirou-san?" 

The older man's easy smile makes his younger companion feel warm and peaceful. "We do have a game, _shougi_ , that's somewhat similar to this Western 'chess' of yours, but I confess that I was never much interested in it, or in board games in general. There are other pastimes which are much more fascinating, after all." 

"Such as?" 

"Well, this, perhaps." Seishirou holds out one arm while making a small gesture with the other hand, and Subaru jumps as a hawk appears, perched on the other man's wrist. "Illusion, naturally, and difficult to sustain for long." The bird disappears, but on the wall behind him, its shadow hops to the shadow of his shoulder, and perches there. 

"You must show me how to do that!" 

"I'm afraid I can't. You see, it's a technique only taught within my family, and I swore an oath a long time ago. I would have to marry you before I could teach you." 

Subaru feels a familiar blush colour his face once more. "And that, naturally, is out of the question," he says in a firm voice. 

"Oh? Why? Am I really that repulsive?" 

The tone and the smile are so innocent that Subaru wonders for a moment if the man really _is_ joking, as he's always assumed when something like this comes up. "You're not repulsive at all, and if it were possible, I should like nothing better." _What am I saying?_ "At least we're friends, I mean, and I might not be so fortunate with some randomly chosen young lady. But in England, men don't marry men." He hesitates, then adds, "And please don't make jokes like that when anyone else is around. People will think that . . . that you hold me in some unspeakable affection. You . . . don't, do you?" 

Seishirou's smile fades, and for a moment, he seems like quite a different person. Then he shakes his head, and the moment is over. "English. I keep on forgetting. I have never before encountered a nation so obsessed with constraining love to the forms it thinks proper." He pulls out his cigarettes, and Subaru hurriedly pushes an ashtray across the table toward him, but in the end, the older man only toys with the flat, gold-plated case for a moment before putting it back in his pocket. "Perhaps I should go home before this land drives me insane, but even if my business here were complete, I still don't understand . . . Tell me, Subaru-kun, if I were to ask you to accompany me back to Japan, would you accept?" 

"I . . . don't know . . . No, that isn't true," the younger man admits. "I'd like to, more than anything, and if Hokuto were safely married, then maybe . . . but she isn't, and I'm responsible for her and for the estate. For the time being, I have to stay." The very thought leaves him numb. Seishirou gone, and him alone? He can scarcely imagine it, although they haven't even known each other a month yet. "I suppose I shall have to find a husband for her soon, though, for I don't know what I shall do if you leave without me." 

He reaches across the board, ignoring the chess pieces he is knocking off onto the floor, and curls his fingers around the other man's hand. It is the first time that they have truly touched. His breath catches in his throat as the older man bends down and brushes his lips against his knuckles, leaving something hanging in the air of the room, half-realized. 

"Please don't leave me alone again, Seishirou-san. I'm not certain I could bear it." 

They are both standing, hands still intertwined, although Subaru cannot remember just when or how he rose from his seat. 

"I thought the fascination I felt for you when we first met would fade with time," the older man says softly, "but if anything, it has grown. Until I fathom what it is that I feel for you, I have no intention of letting you leave my side—and perhaps I will not even permit it then." 

He bends down and brushes his lips lightly over Subaru's, and the young man's eyes open wide in surprise, for that oh-so-gentle touch seems to kindle an unexpected fire inside him. Then Seishirou is gently disengaging their hands. 

"I'll come by early tomorrow, if I may," the older man says. "There's something I want to show you." 

\--------------------------------------------------------

"Seishirou-san, are you certain that whatever you're looking for is back here? I haven't had reason to walk this far from home in years, but when Hokuto and I were children, this was just a woodlot for the farm on the other side of that hill." 

The older man pauses in his tracks for a moment, and offers his young companion a bright smile. "Don't you trust me, Subaru-kun?" 

_Yes. No. I don't know. I thought I did, but after what happened in the study yesterday . . . I still can't believe you kissed me, and that I_ let _you. What were we_ thinking _?_

Subaru thrusts his hands into his pockets and walks on. After a moment, he blinks, realizing that he has never seen this path before. And yet, it couldn't have been worn so deep into the earth in the scant handful of years that have passed since he last walked in these woods . . . And is that snow on the ground? In May? The woods seem to be opening out into a clearing, but there was never a clearing here—in fact, there shouldn't be _space_ for a clearing this large here, nor so many tall trunks to ring it in the middle of this scrubby secondary growth. And in the center of the open space . . . 

It is larger than all the others—not _taller_ , but broader, more substantial, more mature without seeming older—and its branches are dripping with pale pink blossoms. Seishirou stands beside it, smiling gently. 

"This is a cherry tree, isn't it?" Subaru asks, but he already knows the answer to that question. "It's beautiful—I can understand why you miss them. But how did this one come to be here, of all places?" 

Seishirou lifts his hand to his face, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, removes his glasses, folds them, and slides them into his breast pocket. When he raises his head again, he seems like an entirely different person, as he did in the study the previous afternoon, although his expression hasn't changed. 

"It came here with me. I _am_ a Sakurazuka, after all." The breeze plucks at his hair, pushing it back from his face. 

"A legendary assassin?" Subaru challenges, taking a step backward. 

Seishirou laughs. "I may have inherited some of my ancestor's more bizarre attributes, but I am hardly responsible for his sins. The first Sakurazukamori was also the last, whatever the legends may say. I'm nothing but a man who happens to share a peculiar sort of supernatural bond with a tree." 

"Oh." _And even if he'd said "yes", I don't think I would have believed it. Seishirou is just . . . Seishirou._

As though on cue, the older man spreads his jacket on the ground at the foot of the tree and sits down on it, then pats the space beside him invitingly. Subaru doesn't even hesitate before heading over to join him. Nor does he pull away as Seishirou slides his arm around his shoulders. 

"I've often wondered if I would ever find someone I wanted to bring here, but I never expected that that person to be a Sumeragi." 

"Why not?" Subaru snuggles up close to the other man. _Mmmm . . . nice._

"Because our families hate each other. They actually believe the more ridiculous parts of that legend I told you . . . that there's a Sakurazukamori in every generation. Actually, I'm surprised your father never told you about any of this." 

Subaru shrugs. "My father never talked about his life before he came to England at all, if he could help it. I always got the impression that he hated his family." 

"Ah. That's my good fortune, then. You know, it's unseasonably warm here—you must be uncomfortably hot, wearing all those clothes. Let me loosen your collar for you . . ." 

Subaru is about to protest that he can do that himself if he needs it, but something in the older man's eyes stops him, and he lets Seishirou remove his tie and unfasten his waistcoat and the topmost button of his shirt. He shivers as his friend's thumbs stroke gently down the curves of his collarbones, and looks up to find Seishirou's face mere inches from his. 

"Do you want me to stop?" the older man asks, his breath tickling Subaru's cheek. The younger man is on fire, hot and shivery cold all at once, and he cannot think, but . . . 

"No," he husks, and anything else he might have said is muffled by Seishirou's mouth. 

Mere minutes later, as he is lying on his back in the middle of a sea of pale pink blossom with the older man kneeling astride him, he wonders how he could have failed to realize, when they first met, that he has never married because he has been waiting all his life for exactly this. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

He has to read the story twice before it makes sense, and then the implications are such that they make him sit there until his tea has gone stone cold. 

_Prominent Official Killed!_ blares the headline in type so large that he would have expected it to be reserved for reporting the second coming of Christ, not the death of some second-rate politician who was about to become the British ambassador to Japan. 

He isn't even quite certain how he knows that the connection is there—he just does. 

"Oh, Seishirou . . ." 

When he lays the newspaper down beside his plate, he finds himself wandering out into the yard, and then beyond, to the bit of scrubwood that occupies a corner of the neighbours' property. His feet somehow find the deep and narrow path to the clearing, and a little later, he is leaning against the great tree growing at the center. 

"You lied to me," he says, pressing his forehead against it. 

"Only by omission . . . and, I suppose, by telling you that legend in its common, distorted form, rather than as it is passed down by the head of the Sakurazuka family as he dies in the arms of his heir." 

Somehow, he is too tired to flinch away from the hand that comes to rest on his shoulder. "You really are the Sakurazukamori." 

"I never really denied it." 

He can't find the energy to argue. "Why?" 

"To feed the tree. It's a symbiotic relationship, in its way—it draws the energy from those I kill, and in return it gives me power." 

"And you want power that much?" 

"No. But if I try to starve it, it will drive me mad." 

Subaru is crying, because he knows he has lost something—perhaps the innocence that no mere carnal romp could take away. He scarcely notices when Seishirou enfolds him gently in his arms. 

"Would you have loved me if you had known?" the older man asks. 

"I can't imagine _not_ loving you." The words are blurted out, harsh as a sob. 

"Even now?" 

"Even now. Even now that I'm going to lose you. Your job here in England is over, and you're going back to Japan, aren't you?" 

"And you are coming with me if I have to knock you over the head and then hide you in my trunk in order to get you on board the ship." 

Subaru giggles a little at this image, his sadness suddenly evaporating. "Seishirou-san?" 

"Yes?" 

"Make love to me?" 

"You have only to ask." 

Once again, they tumble together to the petal-bestrewn ground, and afterwards, Subaru rests in his lover's arms for hours, basking in his presence. There doesn't seem to be any need for words between them now . . . or at least, not until he notices that the sky is getting dark. 

"Hokuto is going to scold me for being late for supper," the younger man says ruefully, squirming out of Seishirou's embrace. "And how I shall manage to atone for missing afternoon tea completely, I can scarcely guess." 

"Hokuto," grumbles the older man, "will soon have to become accustomed to eating alone." But he lets his young lover go regardless, and begins helping Subaru with his clothes without bothering to reach for his own. 

By the time the younger man is fully clad, the light in the clearing has become mere twilight, and knowing that he must exit the little wood while he can still see if he doesn't want to end up with his face all cut up by whippy little branches, he heads for the opening that leads to the path at a brisk trot and— 

—feels his foot catch on a root, and— 

—hears Seishirou snarl, " _Sadame!_ ", the very meaninglessness of the word painful, and— 

—there is a sharp crack, and— 

—nothing. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

_"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming."_

_"It isn't exactly easy to determine the time at which someone will arrive in response to a letter of summons sent halfway around the world," she snaps. "For all I knew, the next Sakurazukamori might have killed you while it was still in transit. Neither of us is exactly young anymore, Seishirou."_

_"Soon, I expect. My grandson is almost ready—will be ready by the time I get back, I think. But I'm forgetting my manners again. Would it please you to be seated, Hokuto-chan?"_

_As she shuffles over to take her place beside him on the blanket he has spread at the foot of the tree, she cannot help but reflect that he has aged far better than she. His hair is silver now, but it has not thinned, his posture is still determinedly erect, and the ebony-and-mother-of-pearl walking stick leaning against the bole of the great tree seems as much ornamental as functional. And if he truly needs those glasses now . . . well, who but she is left to know that he didn't before?_

_"He died not twenty feet from here," he says into the stillness. "I couldn't believe it at first—that he broke his neck tripping over a_ root _, and me with my feet too tangled in my trousers to save him—but it's the sort of low tragicomedy that my twin has always enjoyed." And he thumps the trunk of the huge sakura tree with his closed fist._

_"Your twin?" She has to ask. Even her Japanese kin, whom she contacted after her brother's death forty-three years ago, know little that is certain about the Sakurazuka clan._

_It is, she discovers, precisely this bitter smile that must have formed the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. "I don't doubt that your brother repeated to you the version of the story that I told him, and parts of it are almost true. However, the common version of the family legend omits the fact that the wedding of the sakura spirit and the human samurai who loved her was against the will of the gods, and so a curse was placed on their line. The sakura spirit bore her husband not one son, but two. Twins. Unfortunately, the second son's body was true to his mother's heritage."_

_"The tree."_

_"Yes. I can't really imagine what it's been like for him—a human soul confined to a blind, deaf, sessile body—but it's driven him mad. Not that it would make things much simpler if he were sane: he would still need to feed, regardless, for that is part of the curse. And because we were twins at our first birth, my soul is bound to his. I cannot truly die until he does, and only a genuinely pure soul can kill him, which means that I cannot. And even then, it has to wait until the proper time. That's why I gave him the name_ Sadame _when I realized what he was, for his destiny binds us both."_

_She shudders. Being trapped in a blind, deaf, immovable body—yes, that would drive anyone to madness even without a curse._

_"It won't be all that much longer now," Seishirou continues, not even looking at her. "My next life—the seventh since we fell under the curse—will also be my last. But first, I have to die and join Sadame inside his nightmare for a while, along with all the other Sakurazukamoris who have fed him since he came into the world, and all of their—our—victims. I suppose I'm fortunate—at least my brother lets me out to play, now and again, but those others are trapped there until he dies. It will also be the seventh time I meet your brother, although I don't expect either of us will remember. I only recovered my memories in this incarnation by falling out of Sadame and landing on my head when I was about eleven—next time, I expect he'll close that loophole as well, and I won't remember your brother any better than I did in my fifth life. I killed him twice that time, without ever knowing . . . without ever understanding . . ."_

_"That Subaru is the pure soul who's going to save you," she says, needing to confirm it for some reason._

_He nods. "I really do wish it could be otherwise. I'm tired of him dying because of me. It isn't surprising really—the Sakurazukamori can only be killed by one he loves, and I have loved Subaru ever since I first saw him, five lifetimes ago . . . but if he kills me, he will become the Sakurazukamori in my place, and it isn't time yet. Won't be time for decades yet. And so I always end up killing him, one way or the other. Except this time. This time, it was Sadame that killed him, although admittedly he did it because of me. We're just never destined to have a quiet, happy life together, I suppose."_

_They sit in silence for a moment, until she says, "You never did ask why I asked you to come here."_

_"I expected that you would tell me when you thought it was time."_

_"I wrote you the moment I found out for certain that I was dying, because I want you to kill me and bury me beside my brother."_

_"Hokuto . . ."_

_"My affairs are in order," she says tartly, "and I've been waiting a very long time to see him again. Surely it won't trouble your conscience—you must have killed hundreds of people, and I'm even giving you permission first."_

_"One thousand two hundred and eighty-six over the course of my six incarnations," he murmurs, with a bemused expression on his face. "Very well. If it's what you really want, I suppose it's the least I can do for my . . . sister-in-law."_

_He gathers her gently into his arms, and the clearing seems to go dark around them. She closes her eyes as sakura petals swirl across her vision. Then she feels another pair of arms close around her from behind, and a beloved voice that she hasn't heard in decades whispers in her ear._

_"Hokuto, don't worry. In 1999, it will all end."_

_In 1999 . . ._

_She carries those words down into darkness with her, clutching them close to her heart, taking courage from them until Sadame releases her spirit back into the world for the final round of the game._

End.


End file.
